Baby Blues
by Diamond Mask
Summary: Due to the obvious lack of Nox babies his relationship with Fayt will produce, Albel is determined to get the bluenette pregnant. Albel X Fayt MPreg.
1. Prologue

**Baby Blues**

**Summary**: Due to the obvious lack of babies his relationship with Fayt will produce, Albel is determined to have one to carry on his family name. The only solution? He has to find a way to get Fayt pregnant. Exactly how is only the first of many challenges that Albel will face in his quest for a Nox baby.

**Disclaimer**: This authoress does not own Star Ocean or any of the respective characters.

**Warnings**: Language, yaoi, male pregnancy.

* * *

Albel Nox was no fool.

He was gay, yes, but he was no fool.

His relationship with Fayt was not going to produce any babies, let alone a Nox heir – any idiot could see that. Albel had accepted this from the time he first realized he was gay and besides, he had a strong dislike for children. They were noisy, smelly and disrespectful little snot-nosed brats. So the fact that no babies would be come out of his relationship with Fayt was fine. In fact, it was a good thing.

Unfortunately, Woltar was not happy about the obvious lack of babies.

At first, Albel was annoyed that the old man dared to meddle in his private affairs, especially his sex-life. Albel enjoyed having sex with Fayt and he was not about to stop just because some old geezer decided he should start producing little monsters for him to be a 'grandfather'. But he soon realized that Woltar had a point.

If Albel did not produce a Nox heir, his line would die when he did. Not only that, but his family estate would be passed to some ungrateful moron from the Vox family or an equally worthless noble.

But as troubling as that was, it did not come close to the solutions that Woltar offered.

Never mind that Albel refused to get married and 'settle down' - he point-blank refused to have sex with any woman. Not only might he kill them out of sheer annoyance, there was no guarantee that he would be 'up' for the job. Currently the only one he could get 'up' for was Fayt. Which meant that he somehow had to find a way to get Fayt pregnant.

This was easier said than done. Albel was aware that pregnancy was an impossible feat for a man, but that small hiccup was no problem. He was confident that he would find some way to impregnate his bluenette lover (who would undoubtedly be honoured to carry a Nox baby for nine months). Surely it couldn't be _that_ difficult.

As for how the baby would get out… Albel frowned and swiped irritably at a passing butterfly.

The mechanics of that question was something that could wait until it was ready to be born. Yes, by then Albel would have learned all about pregnancy and would know how to deal with it. And once the baby was born, he would find someone else to care for it. Well, at least until the child was old enough to learn swordplay. Then he would take the child back and teach it how to be a proper Nox.

Yes, that felt like a good plan. Once he got Fayt pregnant, everything would fall into place: the Nox bloodline would be preserved, Woltar would get to be a grandfather and Albel could continue being gay.

The only problem was how the hell he was going to get the bluenette pregnant.

Albel got up from the rock where he had been sitting and frowned. Perhaps one of those idiot inventors had invented something useful for once – such as a potion that allowed a male to fall pregnant. He dusted himself off and stalked towards the Kirlsa manor, still scowling.

But before he paid the inventors a visit, he had to inform his lover that in a few days he would be carrying a Nox baby.

**TBC**


	2. His Name is Mommy

**Baby Blues**

"What are we doing in Peterny?"

Albel glanced at the blissfully ignorant bluenette walking at his side and smiled. "Oh, nothing special," he replied airily, surreptitiously slipping an arm around Fayt's waist to stroke his stomach lightly. Fayt, thinking it a sweetly possessive gesture, smiled and cuddled closer, not knowing that Albel was daydreaming about touching a belly rounded by pregnancy.

Which led Albel to consider what effect a baby would have on their (and more importantly _his_) sex life.

If his lover had a huge stomach getting in the way, it meant Albel would have to remain celibate for at least four months. If a few days without Fayt were unbearable, how was he going to handle four months?

He sighed. Sex would have to wait until after his son (the first Nox child would not dare to be born a girl) was born. After all, he did not want to accidentally hurt the baby before it had a chance to grow up and defend itself.

But surely the sacrifice of a few hot sweaty nights would be well worth it for a baby Nox?

Albel smiled again, imagining how proud he would be when his boy glared at him for the first time. He was so lost in the image of a little Albel (complete with sword and scowl) that he almost forgot to glare at the people milling around him.

"So what did we come here for? Armour? Weapons? Healing items?"

"Babies."

"Oh, right. Babies."

"…"

"… W-What?"

Albel smirked. "I want a baby," he said calmly, as if were the most natural thing in the world for a bloodthirsty and psychotic gay warrior to want.

"Babies? You want BABIES?"

"Quiet, fool! You want the whole world to know we plan to start a family?"

"…WHAT?!"

The swordsman gave his lover an irritated look. Fayt could be so melodramatic at times; one would almost swear that he was a woman. "But I don't want just any baby. I want a _Nox _baby."

Fayt blinked. "Are… are you… trying to…" then, embarrassingly enough, his eyes filled with tears. "Are you trying to break up with me? End our relationship? Because you want to get married and have _babies_?"

This time, it was Albel who was at a loss for words- both with what Fayt said about marriage and the fact that he was now sobbing his eyes out in the middle of a crowded street. "I said nothing of the sort! _You_ are going to be the mother of my baby!"

"…WHAT?!"

The tears dried up instantly and Fayt gaped at him, green eyes wide. "How can_ I_ be the mother of _your_ baby?"

Albel grabbed his hand impatiently, tugging him along. "Simple. You have all the qualities I need to breed the heir I want."

"Except a uterus."

"…Yes. Obviously, fool."

"You know, most women find those _necessary_ to have babies. Unless I have ovaries planted up my ass, there's no way that's going to happen-"

"-Yet."

"No." Fayt stopped dead, his face frozen in horror. "Hell no! You- you- wouldn't dare-!"

The way the bluenette was swelling with fury, it looked like Albel was likely to either be a) in a world of hurt (hell hath no fury like a pissed Fayt), or b) the victim of a very long, very public tirade about how much of an asshole he was.

Blah, blah, blah…like _that_ was anything new. Besides, all this incessant yapping was beginning to get on his nerves.

"You have no choice in the matter, Fayt," he said testily. "You will be the mother of my child, whether you like it or not. I _need_ a baby-"

"Then have it yourself!"

"…What do you think I am, a woman? I am a warrior, not a wife!"

Fayt glared at him. "Oh, but I am?"

Albel considered that one carefully. If he answered truthfully and said yes, he would get his charred ass handed back to him on a platter. If he lied and said no, Fayt would accuse him of lying and char his ass anyway.

"…"

"Well?" Fayt was tapping his foot impatiently, glaring at him like there was no tomorrow.

"Neither."

"Huh?"

Albel stared speculatively at Fayt and decided that now would be a very good time to seduce him- _anything_ to keep him quiet. Also, the bluenette was looking decidedly unhinged and an angry Fayt was always a turn on for the swordsman.

Fayt, arms folded across his chest and still waiting for an answer, suddenly noticed that Albel was licking his lips and looking at him with a hungry gleam in his eyes. The red-hot gaze was travelling up and down his body, no doubt ripping off every stitch of clothing.

He took a deep breath and gulped, suddenly feeling as if Albel had actually stripped him naked in the middle of the square.

Oh crap… he knew exactly how this was going to end. Fayt shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the inevitable.

"Fayt."

That voice, deep and husky with desire, the same tone that thrust him straight into heaven, broke Fayt's control.

"Goddammit!"

* * *

That was how all their arguments ended. Albel usually had Fayt naked within three minutes, writhing on his back in five and begging for release within ten. The only difference this time was location and today they were forced to settle for the Peterny Inn instead of their own bedroom. 

Once they had sated themselves and were basking in the afterglow, Albel preoccupied himself with ignoring Fayt, who was sulking in bed and ranting about babies. And he was going on and on and on… damn it, why was Fayt being so anal about having babies? It was one of the most perfectly natural things in the world for a couple to do!

"Did you even consider how I would feel, Albel? Babies are a huge step in any relationship… I mean, they change everything! What about us? _What about my feelings_?"

Again with the stupid feelings… gods, how he was beginning to hate the word! Albel rolled over with a grunt to face him. "Any man would be honoured to bear my offspring," he replied offhandedly. "And you should be grateful that I chose you for that privilege."

"Grateful? I should be _grateful_? You- you asshole!"

As Fayt lunged across the bed, Albel caught his wrist and pinned him down onto the pillows. "My, my," he said lazily, "Roughhousing is the last thing someone in your delicate condition should be doing, Fayt."

Fayt froze mid-struggle. "What?"

Albel smirked, running his fingers across the quivering belly beneath him, caressing it with gentle circles and Fayt shivered when the swordsman planted a moist kiss just above his bellybutton.

"What did you do to me?"

"Remember the drinks we had in the tavern earlier? I spiked your glass with a male pregnancy potion."

"Y-You… did WHAT? And then we…we… AAHH!"

Albel smiled, but it turned into a frown as Fayt began to laugh. Was this hysteria or had the bluenette finally snapped? "I fail to see anything funny about you being pregnant with my child, Fayt," he said coolly, letting his partner sit up.

"You would if you knew what I did."

His suspicion grew. "What, fool? Out with it!" he demanded impatiently.

"Remember after we sat down and I asked you to get me a steamed bun?"

"Yes…"

"I knew you were up to something, so I-"

With a horrible sense of doom, Albel realized that Fayt was smarter than he realized.

"-switched our glasses."

A _lot _smarter.

"You mean I… I drank the pregnancy potion?"

Fayt nodded, a wide grin threatening to split his face in two.

"Welcome to motherhood… _mommy_."

**TBC**

* * *

**A/N: **No, no-one is pregnant yet. But someone will be soon... hey, you never know, Albel could still have a few more tricks up his sleeve for poor Fayt!


	3. Topped

**Baby Blues**

* * *

Never again.

Never again would Albel allow himself to submit.

He would kill himself with his own sword before he turned uke for a second time.

Albel stared at the bathroom ceiling, mulling over the events of the past hour. He had been trying to forget everything that happened since Fayt stabbed him in the back (literally), but the nasty little pain in his backside kept coming back as a reminder of his first uke moment. And a baby would soon emerge as a permanent reminder of that horrifying moment. And once it become obvious he was pregnant, _everyone_ would know.

Not only had he been humiliated, but his ass hurt and his ego was ripped to shreds. At least the hot water was helping with the pain (which, to tell the truth, was not that bad because the swordsman had suffered far worse injuries), but the fact remained that Albel was now royally pissed and emotionally scarred.

He had been made an uke.

His _younger_ lover had reduced Albel the Wicked to an _uke_.

And that younger lover, who Albel had now resolved to destroy as soon as he confirmed he was pregnant, even had the nerve to be proud about it! Albel scowled and sank lower into the water, his long hair floating around him like lank seaweed. Yes, the first thing he was going to do when he managed to get out of the bath was kill the father of his baby for ruining the reputation of terror he had spent a lifetime building.

Fayt deserved every moment of pain for making Albel the Wicked enjoy being _topped_.

**FLASHBACK **

"You like that, huh?"

Attempting to hide the fact that he was indeed liking it, Albel scrunched himself into a tighter ball, growled "No" and tried to ignore the fingertips caressing his back. But when warm lips started sucking and nibbling gently on his ear and neck, he knew he was a goner. Apris, Fayt must have been paying more attention during foreplay than he realised because all his best techniques were being used against him!

The bluenette smirked when he felt Albel shudder and continued to tease his lover, seeking out the spots which he hoped might make Albel more submissive when it was time to make their baby.

Albel gritted his teeth when the fingers started wandering lower and lower. The worst thing about this whole mess was that he wanted Fayt to do it; he _wanted_ to feel what Fayt could do to him.

Sweat began trickling down his temple and Albel clenched his fists, desperately hanging onto the image of a miniature Albel beating the Vox heir senseless for the first time. He was putting himself through this horror for a Nox baby, for his little boy, dammit, not his own twisted curiosity!

"Bel," Fayt cooed sweetly into his ear, "honey, you have to relax. If you tense up, it will hurt no matter how gentle I am."

Albel started grinding his teeth, staring fixedly at the wall. Five minutes. Five minutes and this nightmare would be over. All he had to do was relax and endure five eternal minutes of hell and then he could reclaim his rightful position as seme and Fayt could return to being his uke.

The younger man licked his cheek teasingly and whispered, "Are you ready for me, Bel? Or," a hand slid down to cup one buttock playfully, "should I find out for myself?"

"Just get on with it," he growled in reply, resisting the urge to fling himself off the bed and grab the Crimson Scourge. "Before I kill you with my bare hands."

Fayt pouted, but slid both hands lower, relishing his moment of dominance over Albel. As much as he wanted to make this little slice of heaven last for hours more, there was a limit to the chances of successful impregnation with the potion and Albel was bound to snap in a matter of minutes. And Fayt would hate for them to end up half-killing each other on the day their baby was conceived.

He took a deep breath, his movements slow and careful, and gently eased himself into Albel.

Albel stiffened immediately, fingers twitching as they scrabbled to get hold of a blade. Naturally, his first thought was to kill. He even considered throwing Fayt off and sleeping with a woman to get a Nox baby to avoid this disgrace.

But as they progressed, as Fayt improved with every vigorous thrust, his thoughts turned from bloody murder to something entirely un-Albel like. When his vision exploded into thousands of stars, Albel Nox finally did the unthinkable.

He embraced his Inner Uke.

**END FLASHBACK**

Damn Fayt. Damn him to _hell_.

It was his fault for being so good that Albel actually enjoyed being dominated for those brief moments!

Albel sank below the surface and wished that Apris would be merciful and end his misery with one swift stroke. He opened his eyes underwater and glared at his flat stomach. "You had better be worth it," he gurgled ominously, sending murderous bubbles towards his foetus, which had hopefully taken root somewhere by now.

"Albel? Are you still in there?"

He ignored the tentative knock and sank deeper until he was lying on the bottom of the bathtub.

In the other room, Fayt leaned against the door, wondering if he should just barge in. Albel had been in there a long time and he was getting a little worried. The swordsman had a tendency to be somewhat melodramatic at times, particularly when he was upset.

"You have to be careful, or you might end up looking like a wrinkled old prune," he called again.

Albel made a sound of disgust and watched the bubbles from his mouth float to the surface. He would give Fayt five seconds to leave before he hauled himself out of the tub and went after him to exact revenge. And if the bluenette even dared to think of joining him in the bath, there was no telling of how much bloodshed and terror would be unleashed.

"Mind if I join you?"

One red eye opened and stared at the blue smudge waving above his head. "No," he snarled.

But all Fayt heard was "glub", which he translated as "yes".

"Mmm, the water feels great," he commented, as he stripped off his pants and tested the warm water with one finger.

Albel watched the bluenette lower himself into the opposite end of the bath. Dammit, where was the Crimson Scourge when he needed to destroy someone?

"Um, Bel, you mind moving so I can sit down?"

Albel huffed and sat up, but only because he needed air, not because Fayt asked him to. "Do as you like, fool." If the boy even attempted to touch him now or do anything suspicious, Albel was going to nail him, destruction gene and all.

Fayt relaxed and closed his eyes, letting himself sink up to his neck. The hot water was soothing, washing away the stickiness and spreading his languid mood all over his body. He was content to stay like this until the water got cold or Albel kicked him out. But when he felt the familiar gaze burning holes through him, his eyes fluttered open.

"What?"

"Why did you do it?"

Fayt blinked and grinned shyly, a blush colouring his cheeks. "You know why I wanted to."

Albel scowled. Unfortunately, he had to agree with Fayt that he was very doable (which was why the Nox genes had to be passed on even at the cost of his own pride and honour). And who in their right mind would pass up the chance to screw Albel Nox?

"No, fool, I meant make a baby. Simply wanting to dominate me is not reason enough for you of all people to agree to have a child - especially with me. Besides, I thought you would be 'wasting your youth' if you tied yourself down now."

The bluenette was quiet, staring at the water for several moments until he looked up and smiled. "The idea of being called daddy started to appeal to me," he admitted cheerfully. "And if we have a baby together, it will be that much harder for you to get rid of me."

There were other reasons, of course, but ones that he was not willing to share yet, even with Albel.

Albel narrowed his eyes, knowing that there was something more, but he knew how frustrating it was for someone to push for details so he let it slide. "Fine," he said shortly, closing his eyes and leaning back. "But we never agreed that you would be called daddy. That will be _my_ title."

"So what's the kid supposed to call me?"

Albel smirked, pretending to think before replying.

"I think 'maggot' would be rather appropriate."

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

Albel was lying flat on his back, feeling nauseas and more irritable than usual when the box landed on his stomach. "What is this?" he growled, not bothering to sit up. If he did, he might give in to the urge to throw up the dry biscuit he had managed to eat for breakfast.

"Home pregnancy test," Fayt replied, scrutinising his lover carefully. He was looking pale (which was normal) and he was edgy (which was even more normal) and he was diligently avoiding any food, particularly in the morning. That was _not_ normal. Albel may have been skinny, but he never missed a meal when he could help it – the man practically breathed in food when he was training.

The swordsman examined the box, squinting at the alien writing before glaring at Fayt for an explanation.

"You have to pee on the stick."

"I have to _what_ on a stick?" Albel promptly ripped the box open, emptying the contents onto his lap and stared at the small white stick with a colourless strip. "How is that going to tell me if I am pregnant or not?"

"Look, you just pee on that strip there and it changes colour. If it turns blue, we have to try again. If it turns red, then congratulations, we have a Nox on the way."

Albel frowned, examining the ordinary little strip. "Is this one of those strange 'science' things you keep prattling on about?" he asked suspiciously, holding the strip away from his body as if it was suddenly going to attack.

"Well, when a woman is pregnant, her body releases certain hormones which can be detected in her urine. If you are pregnant, they should show up when you pee on the stick."

"Surely there must be another more dignified way to tell than peeing on a bloody stick, Fayt."

"Ah, no. Not for a man."

Grumbling under his breath, Albel lurched to his feet and wobbled his way to the bathroom with Fayt following behind him.

**FIVE MINUTES (AND A TINKLE) LATER**

Fayt paced back and forth outside the bathroom, wondering why he was so nervous. He was positive that Albel was pregnant, but having the test would make the baby a reality. In nine months, Albel would be bringing another person into the world… _his_ child. Swallowing nervously, he kept his eyes locked on the door. When it opened, he was felt like he was ready to faint.

Silently, Albel held up the strip.

It was red.

**TBC **


	4. Baby Books

**Baby Blues**

**A/N**: This chapter is really short... so think of it as a filler.The reason for this is because I hate skipping time within chapters, so I was going to delete what I had written, but it was too cute to cut out of the story.

Please R&R.

* * *

It was funny how a tiny plastic strip had the power to change their lives.

Albel stared at the red strip before staring at the unconscious bluenette on the floor. It was so pathetic, so – well, so _Fayt_ of him to faint. Spilling monster blood and guts all over the ground was fine and dandy, but as soon as Fayt found out he was going to be a father, it was lights out. He grumbled under his breath before nudging the boy in the ribs to make sure he was still alive. When there was no response, he kicked harder, but Fayt only moaned and curled in on himself.

Pathetic. And to think this was the man he had chosen to father his baby. For his sake, that destruction gene of his had better pass on to their baby, or else fainting was going to be the least of his problems.

He left Fayt on the floor since it was too much effort to bend down, and stood in front of the mirror, not to admire his sleekly muscled physique like he usually did, but to admire his newly pregnant body. Strange… he frowned, examining himself from every possible angle. Nothing looked different. In fact, he looked exactly as he always had. But pregnant people were supposed to look different. Tch, even he knew that. Or maybe… there was something _wrong_…

And if something was wrong… _no Nox babies_.

"Fayt!"

He poked the lifeless boy with his foot, and he stirred with a groan.

"Wha-?"

"I do not look pregnant. Tell me why I do not look pregnant!"

Fayt winced, sitting up slowly and rubbing his head. "For crying out loud, Albel."

Albel glared at him, fighting the urge to kick him again. He hated it when Fayt spoke to him with that annoyingly superior tone - just because the teen was a near genius and he was from a backwater planet did not mean Albel was any less intelligent. If anything, he was more intelligent than this feeble heap of boy on the floor. "Just answer the question, fool."

"You drank the potion three weeks ago, Albel… which means you have only been pregnant for three _weeks_."

The swordsman ignored the implied 'duh' at the end of that sentence simply because it was too troublesome to go fetch his sword, and sat down on the bed instead. The nausea was coming back with a vengeance. "And? What of it, fool?"

Fayt dragged himself to his feet and over to his lover. "Pregnancy only shows after a few months - _not_ three weeks. And besides, the baby will only be here after nine."

"Nine months?" Albel glared at his belly, no doubt giving his foetus its first scolding for daring to make him wait that long. "You forget that this is a Nox baby, my son will be here in _six!_"

Evidently the Glyphians did not believe in sex education. Honestly, was it too much to ask for between sparring and swordplay? Was it too much for Fayt to expect that even the boys be taught the basics of reproduction? He made a mental note to bring up the delicate subject with Airyglyph the next time he was in the city… to think, the king had men running his army whose knowledge of pregnancy only extended as far as making babies, not the mechanics of how children emerged.

Now, Fayt could have explained the intricacies of pregnancy at this point. In fact, when he looked back on this moment, he realised it would have been better if he had. He loved Albel, he really did, and he had a duty to complete his lover's education. But the thought of giving Albel a biology lesson was only making his head hurt more. "I think it would be better if you bought a book about it. All mothers-" he stopped when Albel glared at him and hastily corrected himself, "-and fathers expecting their first child buy baby books."

Albel squinted at him, looking more murderous than confused. "They do?"

"Yeah."

But did Fayt really want Albel to learn about babies from a 'Ye Old Pregnancy' type book?

The bluenette watched Albel pulling on his boots, debating whether or not to say something. "Albel, maybe we should go together. You know, since this is our baby."

Albel glared. "Just because I am pregnant, Fayt, does not mean that I am suddenly incapable of doing things on my own," he said frostily. "I will be going _alone_." But at the hurt look on the teens face, he softened, before grudgingly adding, "Besides, I want to be the one to tell Woltar about the baby – you always jump in and say things before I can."

Fayt smiled, but quailed inwardly as he realised this moodiness was only going to get worse as the baby grew. "I never thought that, Bel. I just thought it would be, you know, nice if we did it as a couple."

"Bah, at least it gives me some time away from your incessant whining."

The younger man rolled his eyes, but let it slide. Arguing would get Albel mad, they would start fighting, and then they would end up back in bed. It was a vicious, vicious cycle… usually one they repeated voluntarily. Every day. Sure, they both enjoyed those arguments immensely (sometimes too much), but eventually they had to do _something_ other than just sex.

"Just put a cloak on, okay? It looks like rain and you can't afford to get sick."

Albel scowled, grabbing the crimson cloak hanging over a chair and flinging it around his skinny shoulders. "Yes, _mother_."

His lover only grinned in reply. Oh, the irony… if he said anything now, they would definitely end up having sex. So Fayt bit his lip and kept his mouth shut, watching the red eyes narrow suspiciously. Albel glared at him for five seconds before he decided that they could definitely settle this tonight. Unfortunately, one could not buy baby books at night. On the other hand, one could do other things at night… all night, in fact… and all morning too, come to think about it.

"You had better save your energy, maggot."

With that threat/promise, Albel the Wicked kicked open the door to their Kirlsa apartment and stomped out with a dramatic swish of his cloak. As he stepped into the busy street, a group of children ran away screaming and a fruit vendor fainted.

Albel only smiled.

People feared him, Fayt was re-learning his place as uke (he had to, because every time he tried to get on top, Albel threatened to break his fingers), and his bloodline was no longer in danger of becoming extinct.

As soon as he got that bloody book, life would be perfect.

**TBC**


	5. Grandaddy Woltar

**Baby Blues**

The Storm Brigade soldiers standing guard outside the Kirlsa headquarters had seen it all.

They had bared witness to countless battles, where wild Aquarian magic raged and gigantic ships from other worlds ripped the sky apart with beams of light. So with that much experience tucked under their belts, they considered themselves to be shockproof. After all, what could their little planet possibly do to top that?

In fact, both men had lived in a perpetual state of boredom ever since the end of the war. They needed excitement, they needed action, they needed-

"Lord Albel!"

Both soldiers snapped to attention as they recognised the familiar shock of black and blonde braids stalking towards them. Since Albel was not one for pleasantries and small talk, and the more senior of the two guards valued his sanity and his manhood, he kept his mouth shut.

Smart boy.

Albel acknowledged their presence with a grunt, barely giving them a second glance from between the pages of his pregnancy book.

The younger guard blinked.

Pregnancy book…?

Albel the Wicked… was reading a book.

_About having babies. _

Albel heard the thud behind him and turned to frown irritably at the unconscious soldier. So much for battle-hardened warriors, he thought scornfully. Was it really so bizarre to see him to be reading this particular book? Was Woltar raising a bunch of pansies as soldiers?

The swordsman strongly suspected it was the latter.

He glared at the second guard, who was looking torn between blurting out some inane comment and pissing his pants. Albel silently dared him to make a smart-ass remark so he had an excuse to kick the crap out of him, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Pity.

Albel sighed in disappointment, sheathing his sword reluctantly. It had been so long since he had given anyone a decent ass kicking… ever since Fayt had decided that Albel was going to turn over a new leaf and be a "kind, decent man", his life had lost that special bit of sparkle. In the days of B.F (Before Fayt), dishing out punishment had always lifted his spirits, no matter how angst-ridden he was feeling.

But at least people still feared him. He could reduce the toughest of men to quivering wrecks when he felt like it, women fainted in his presence and children were emotionally scarred just by looking at him.

It was consolation enough.

He smiled suddenly at the guard, enjoying the look of terror that flitted across the man's face.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

The man gasped and promptly fainted.

Albel smirked.

_A beautiful day indeed_.

* * *

"Woltar."

"…"

"_Woltar._"

The older man continued to gape at him in silence, completely and utterly stupefied. Albel repeated his name louder and Woltar blinked, chuckling vaguely and rubbing his eyes. "Excuse me, Albel, I could've sworn you just told me you were pregnant."

"I did, old man. Are you deaf as well as senile?"

Woltar shook his head again. The cold weather was making him hallucinate, that was the only explanation… there was no way that Albel was standing in front of him, declaring that he was _pregnant_ of all things.

"Did you hit your head, boy?" he asked incredulously. "Or did Zelpher finally make good on her threat and scramble your brains?"

"No, I drank a potion that allows a man to fall pregnant," Albel snapped, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. "And then Fayt stuck his-"

Woltar wisely chose to cover his ears at this point.

"-I thought it would be too much of a tight fit, but Fayt is much stronger than he looks-"

And it got worse.

"-and I never knew he could do that trick with his tongue, the boy is a genius when he puts his mind to it. Well, I always knew he was smart, but I never knew he was so gifted-"

Woltar paled, clutching at his heart. Why was Albel giving an old man a blow-by-blow account about his sex-life?

"-I was surprised at how good it felt, because naturally I am the dominant one, but when Fayt rammed it in-"

_Why? _

_For the love of Apris, why?_

Woltar began to wheeze and flopped limply onto his chair. When Albel started lamenting the drawbacks of having an uke orgasm as opposed to his usual seme orgasm (because, apparently, there _was_ a difference), the older captain started choking.

The noise distracted Albel from his story. "Listen, Woltar," he said coldly, "you could at least have the decency to listen to how your first grandchild was conceived."

He tapped his claw irritably on the desk, adding, "You may have to share it with him when he is old enough to hear of such things. I certainly won't, and Fayt would be too embarrassed, I know it."

Woltar was pushing seventy. He was a war veteran, the captain of an elite army. He was now traumatised beyond rational belief. Good lord, and Albel expected him to explain something like this to his grandchild?

"Albel, are you-" he swallowed hard. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Albel looked at him as if _he_ was the one who was mad. "No. Why would it be? You were the one who told me to start making babies and I did. You get to be a grandfather, I can continue being gay, now stop complaining!"

Woltar put his head in his hands, before taking a deep breath and looking up. "This must be some kind of misunderstanding," he said calmly, ordering his thoughts into a logical explanation. "It is impossible for a man to bear children. _Impossible!_"

The swordsman rolled his eyes. "That's what you think," he mumbled.

"Albel," Woltar began carefully, "I can understand if you are trying to justify your relationship with Fayt to me by concocting a story about being pregnant…"

"And when have I ever needed to justify myself to you, old man?"

"I know that I have been pressuring you to marry and have children, but inventing such foolish stories is hardly the way for a man of your age and stature to behave. Really, Albel, I expected better of you. Your devotion to Fayt is admirable, but the fact remains that he is not able to produce an heir. Perhaps if you simply found the right woman…"

"There is no right woman, and there never will be. How many more times do I have to tell you that?"

"But Fayt will never give you a son!"

Albel gave him a smug look, patting his stomach fondly. "He already has."

Woltar was on the verge of smashing his head against the desk. Or crying. And quite possibly both. "You must have lost your mind," he protested weakly. "It is impossible for a man to fall pregnant, physically impossible. Men do not have wombs-"

There was a soft cough. "Except me."

"No!"

A tuft of white hair landed on the desk. Albel looked at it pityingly before looking at the distraught old man. "Oh, pull yourself together, Woltar," he said testily. "One would swear you were the one going to have a baby."

"But… but…"

Woltar was desperately trying to hold onto logic, but it was slipping away with every passing mention of Albel having _babies_. And gods above, Albel was adamant that he was pregnant. Was he mad? Was he delusional? Woltar suspected it was so: the lad had always been a tad unstable, even more so as an adult, but what if… what if he was actually telling the truth?

_Could Albel honestly and truly be pregnant?_

The swordsman watched passively as Woltar lapsed into a dazed silence. Several moments ticked by with no response from the poor Storm Brigade captain so Albel put his feet up on the desk and delved back into his baby book. Woltar was experiencing a personal crisis, so he would let him be. Besides, it was too troublesome to snap him out of this ridiculous stupor. It was much easier to read about breastfeeding.

Albel paused and gave his flat chest a cursory examination. Ah. Well.

Presumably they were going to grow _sometime_ in the future.

Woltar, as expected, was indeed experiencing a personal crisis. No, this was a crisis that threatened the entire kingdom. What would the people say when they learnt that the captain of the illustrious Black Brigade, the pride of Airyglyph, was pregnant?

What would the _king_ say?

"Glou must be turning in his grave," Woltar muttered to himself. "His only son, the heir to his house, thinks he is pregnant!"

Albel stared at him over the top of his book. "Actually, I think my father would be rather proud," he said offhandedly. "He always did approve of resourcefulness."

"I doubt his son's pregnancy was what he meant by _resourcefulness_."

"True, it would have been far more practical if Fayt was carrying the baby."

"That is _not_ what I meant either! What I meant was… that is, what I mean to say is… oh, bloody hell." Woltar groaned, dropping his head onto his arms. "Boy, you will be the death of me."

Albel smiled. It was one of the closest things to outright, honest affection that the old man would ever say.

"Albel…" the older man seemed to regain most of his composure and he smoothed down his greying hair decisively. "I want you to tell me how this happened. I want you to tell me _everything_."

The swordsman smirked. "Everything?" he enquired innocently. "Why, Woltar, I already did. Unless you want to hear it again… in greater detail, of course…"

"For the sake of my heart, you had better stick to the facts. But perhaps I should be more specific." Woltar paused, eyes clouding in contemplation. "Perhaps you could tell me about this potion you took," he suggested. "The one that allowed you to… that allowed you to fall…"

"You can say it, Woltar. P-r-e-g-n-a-n-t. It's not hard. You know, when my egg and Fayt's sperm came together and-"

Woltar blanched at the thought of Albel having _eggs_.

"I know what it is, boy!" he interjected hastily, before Albel could go into greater detail about just how the egg and the sperm happened to be in the same place at the same time.

Albel sighed and set down his book. It was a boring tale, not nearly as exciting as his account of the baby's conception, but Woltar was being such an obstinate old stick. But he did look a tad pale… and the last thing he wanted was for his child's grandfather to keel over when his son was still the size of a grape.

"I sought out the inventors to create a means for Fayt to bear a child. But none of the maggots could do or think of anything vaguely useful, so I was forced to go to that idiot woman, Welch. Strangely enough, she had exactly what I needed… a male pregnancy potion… and she said she needed a test subject, so I got the damn thing for free. Then I slipped the potion into Fayt's drink, but the worm distracted me and switched the drinks so I drank it instead."

He sounded annoyed at the last part, but Woltar caught the admiring gleam in his red eyes and hid a knowing smile.

"So, how does this male pregnancy potion work?"

"The wench explained that the potion will eventually turn the drinker into a woman. But the most important change, the internal features, happen first and almost instantaneously – which is why I could fall pregnant so quickly. My outer appearance will only change as the baby grows. In nine months, I will be a complete woman."

Woltar choked back a snort of laughter. Albel, a woman? "Are you…are you _serious_?"

Albel grimaced. "Laugh all you want, old man. I don't care, as long as I get what I want."

"Yes, I suppose so," the older captain replied dryly. "And you will have to, once people start noticing your, uh, change of appearance."

"Oh, don't worry about them," Albel said indifferently, rising from his chair, Crimson Scourge in hand. "I know how to deal with people who insult me _very_ well."

"That is what I worry about."

Albel smirked, raising a hand in farewell as he moved toward the door. "Well, I suppose we will be seeing you again rather soon, won't we, grandfather?"

Woltar smiled.

_Grandfather… I could become accustomed to hearing that more often._

* * *

Fayt looked up expectantly as Albel banged open the door to their apartment and tossed his cloak onto the chair where the bluenette was seated.

"Well?" he asked, one brow raised. "How did he take it?"

Albel dropped a small tuft of white hair in front of his lover and smirked.

"Oh, I think he took it rather well."

**TBC **


	6. Cravings and Sonograms

"Fayt."

The bluenette stirred at the sound of his name. "Mmph," he mumbled, rolling over onto his side. The figure lying next to him wriggled closer, teasing lips seeking out a naked shoulder, playful hands twisting strands of azure hair.

"Fayt," his partner whispered again.

"Lemme… alone…"

Skinny arms clamped like a vice around his waist, and a warm tongue licked seductively at his neck, but Fayt mumbled sleepily in protest, letting out a soft moan.

"Bel… not now… tired… wanna sleep…"

Albel smiled sweetly, looking remarkably like a cobra. With a mock sigh, he rubbed his gently (almost barely) protruding belly. "Patience, my boy," he murmured. "Daddy will get us what we want."

He glanced at Fayt, who was curled into a ball with his thumb dangerously close to his mouth, and drew back his foot.

"Wake up, maggot!"

The poor boy let out a sharp yelp as a swift kick was delivered to his side. He floundered in a tangle of blankets and limbs before tipping over the side of the bed. Fayt hit the floor with a thud, and lay flat on his back. Dazed, he could only stare up at the ceiling with stunned eyes, marvel at the little Roger bouncing across it (and waving his bushy tail very cheekily too) and wonder what the hell had happened.

Then a familiar grinning face filled his vision and he knew _exactly_ what happened.

With great effort, he turned his head to look at the clock on his nightstand. He winced when he saw the glaring red numbers: 2:00 a.m.

"Albel," Fayt croaked, "please tell me you have a good reason for kicking me out of bed at two in the morning."

The swordsman looked miffed. "Of course I do. I would only bother waking you up for an emergency, fool!"

Fayt was instantly alert. "Is something wrong with the baby? Are you sick? Does it hurt somewhere? Oh my god, I have to get you to a doctor!" the bluenette panicked, scrambling to his feet and anxiously surveying Albel for any sign of an emergency. "Quick, tell me!"

"I need ice-cream."

The younger man froze, midway between picking Albel up to carry him to the Diplo or calling Cliff to do it for him while he panicked some more. "You… you want ice-cream… at two in the morning?"

"No, I don't want ice-cream, I _need_ it. There's a difference."

Fayt stared, his still half-asleep brain still trying to process what had been said. "You want ice-cream," he repeated slowly. "You kicked me out of bed at two in the morning because you need ice-cream."

Albel rolled his eyes. Was Fayt really a genius? Or did he just have the mental capacity of a rock that he never noticed because the bluenette was so adorable? If Albel Nox said he wanted ice cream, then damn it; he wanted ice cream!

"Yes, I want ice-cream, fool. Now go and get it so I can go back to sleep," he snapped, pulling the covers back over himself and staring defiantly at the father of his unborn baby. "I want triple fudge chocolate chip, with extra chocolate chips and chocolate fudge sauce – actually, bring me the whole bottle. You never put enough on."

Fayt turned blue.

Albel watched him curiously. It was a rather fetching shade of blue that matched his hair quite well. There was even a strange, strangled sort of noise coming from his throat.

How interesting. Was he choking?

No, wait, he had seen this before. As a matter of fact, it was just yesterday when he had woken Fayt up at three a.m. to demand a chicken and pineapple pizza. Oh well, he would get over it in a couple of minutes or so once the request sank in. He would just have to wait.

Then again… Albel had never been a patient man…

"Would you hurry up? The ice-cream is not going to bring itself upstairs."

Fayt snapped.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND? IF YOU WANT ICE-CREAM AT TWO IN THE FREAKING MORNING, GET IT YOURSELF!"

"…"

"…"

"…_excuse me_?"

The bluenette glared back. "You heard me," he retorted, staggering to his feet. "If you want ice-cream, go downstairs and get it yourself! I'm sick of this, waking me up in the middle of the night for food."

But when Fayt tried to get back into bed, a foot barred his way and promptly kicked him back out again.

"You are not getting back in this bed until you go downstairs and get my ice-cream!"

"But what's the point? You'll just throw it all up tomorrow morning!"

The red eyes narrowed dangerously. "The point is that I want it now. And if I don't get it now, there will be consequences."

Fayt quailed, and his resolve, along with his argument, weakened considerably. Albel had developed an even shorter fuse since falling pregnant, which, when coupled with his newfound sweet tooth, made the swordsman more dangerous than ever.

"Come on, Bel," he tried one last whine. That usually worked (with the key word being usually). "All you have to do is go downstairs and raid the freezer yourself. Geez, how complicated could it be?"

"Oh. I see. So you would let your pregnant boyfriend walk down the stairs in the dark, risk tripping and losing your baby, and navigate a dark kitchen filled with sharp, dangerous objects, again risking yourbaby?"

"No, I–"

"Obviously you don't care about my or the baby's needs."

"That's not true–"

"…then go get my ice-cream."

"No!"

"Make up your mind, maggot!"

"I docare about you and the baby. More than anything. But it's also a matter of principle. I mean, you're only four months pregnant. It would be completely different if you were eight months gone or something, but if you can still lead your troops in training exercises, you can go get your own ice cream. I'm…"

He paused, wondering how best to phrase his next point. It wasn't exactly something his boyfriend would take kindly too. Then again, Albel didn't take kindly to anything. Especially now that he had female hormones running rampant in his body.

Oh, screw it. Just because Albel happened to be pregnant didn't mean he could walk all over him (actually it did, but Fayt was just dense that way).

"I'm… I'm your boyfriend, the father of your baby, not your slave!"

The swordsman stared unblinkingly at him, with just the teensiest hint of pure, unadulterated menace. And poor, poor Fayt began to realise that perhaps he was a little too ahead of himself.

"Um, that is… what I meant to say was… was…"

Judging by the twisted expression on his face, Fayt was gathering every scrap of courage from every molecule of every cell in his body, just to tell his lover a plain and simple no.

"I am getting back into bed, we are going back to sleep, and that is final."

…of course when one was dealing with Albel the Wicked, there was no such thing as a plain and simple no.

Well, Albel would have found Fayt's triumphant declaration very amusing (and very arousing) had he not been a pregnant man with a serious craving for chocolate ice cream at two a.m.

"Either you get my ice-cream, Fayt, or I have to explain to our son why daddy always sleepsoutside."

Fayt gulped. "But, Bel–"

"Now, Fayt!"

But the bluenette (miraculously) held his ground. He looked Albel straight in the eye, and said–

"No."

At this point, Albel could have exploded. He could have tossed Fayt outside and confined him there until he cooled off or felt guilty. He could have taught his uke a lesson in obedience.

Yes, he should have done all of the above. In fact, it was what Fayt even expected.

But the hormones had a different idea.

"Albel…" the bluenette inched closer, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

"Are you… are you _crying_?"

"I'm not crying, maggot," the swordsman sobbed, grabbing the sheet to hide his face. "Why cry just because you don't love me anymore?"

"Oh hell." Fayt clumsily put his arms around his lover, patting him awkwardly on the back. "Albel, I didn't mean to make you cry… no, really… and of course I love you. You know I do."

"You don't… I'm pregnant with your child and you can't even make the effort of going downstairs and fetching some ice-cream… that _proves_ you don't love me…"

"No, Bel, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so stubborn when I know it's difficult for you being pregnant. Geez, I feel like such a jerk!"

Albel sniffed, dabbing his eyes with the sheet and huddling against the younger man. "You… could make it up to me…"

Fayt smiled. "Ice-cream?"

"Ice-cream," he confirmed.

"Sure. I'll be right back," the bluenette returned softly, planting a soft kiss on his lover's forehead.

When he was sure Fayt was downstairs, Albel dropped the sheet with noise of disgust.

"The things I have to do just to get a little bit of ice-cream around here…"

He threw a dirty look at his belly, wiping his watering eyes impatiently. "I hope you're happy. You forced me to humiliate myself in front of your daddy. Consider yourself fortunate to be protected by my belly, else I would have tanned your hide for this."

Albel sniffed, settling for giving his stomach a light smack instead. He flopped back down on the soft heap of pillows, but frowned when he noticed that his eyes were still wet.

Odd... he rubbed at them a little harder.

The tears kept leaking out.

He reached for a tissue and screwed up his eyes tightly, squeezing out every last drop of moisture before mopping them up. Muttering curses, Albel dropped the crumpled tissue on his nightstand and settled down to wait for his ice cream.

A drop of wetness fell on his arm.

Albel blinked, and another tear dropped.

"Why won't these blasted tears stop?" he grumbled out loud, grabbing a fistful of tissues. He rubbed violently at his eyes, but the tears kept coming.

Slowly, panic began to set in.

For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't stop crying.

No, this was impossible. He didn't cry. Albel Nox never cried – _ever_. He hadn't even cried as a five-year old when his first pet died. He had been trying to manipulate Fayt, that's all, just squeezing out a few crocodile tears to get some ice cream.

Albel hiccupped nervously, choking back a sob as the tears began to flow faster.

"W-What the hell is wrong with me?" he wailed.

Alarmed now, the swordsman jumped out of bed and ran to the nearest mirror.

Oh. Oh god.

His normally pale skin was slowly turning a mottled red. His eyes were becoming puffy. His cheeks were twin spots of bright red, marred by tearstains.

And those tears, those goddamned tears, just kept _pouring_ right out.

Albel screamed.

* * *

Fayt slouched his way to the freezer, dragging his socked feet and grumbling under his breath. He knew very well that Albel's tears were fake – anybody who knew Albel knew that he never cried – but he couldn't bring himself to be so heartless when his lover made the effort to look so helpless and adorable.

And, Fayt surmised, Albel was pregnant. True, there were still at least five months to go until the baby was born, but he would indulge all his ridiculous requests until then, just because. Besides… the bluenette eyed the contents of the fridge, deciding that tomorrow Albel was going on a health-kick whether he wanted to or not. It was oatmeal or nothing for breakfast. Ice cream was an insufficient source of vitamins and overall nutrition, despite how Albel protested that he was now "eating for two".

"_Eating for two" my ass_, he thought wryly. _It's just an excuse for him to eat all the junk food he's been craving lately. I have to curb his sugar-intake and maintain his health, for his sake and the baby's. _

He grinned then, the somewhat goofy grin that all –well, most– anticipating parents shared. He still couldn't believe it. Fayt even had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming (of course, the reverse also happened when Fayt had to check he wasn't in the grips of a nightmare, particularly when Albel was having a hormone-induced tantrum).

Albel was having a baby. _Their _baby.

Ooh, it gave him goose bumps.

He was reaching for the ever-present carton of ice cream when a male scream shattered the quiet of the apartment. Fayt dropped the carton, but caught it before it could hit the floor. His heart throbbed almost painfully as he called out worriedly, "Albel?"

No answer.

Without a second thought, Fayt shoved the ice cream back in the freezer and ran. But as he skidded towards the stairs, a shadowy form came tearing down first.

"Albel!"

"Fayt!" the swordsman sobbed back.

Fayt blinked as his lover threw himself into his arms. "Albel," he said uncertainly. "Did something happen?"

"They –hic– won't stop!"

"What won't stop?"

"T-The tears," he howled, clenching a handful of Fayt's t-shirt between his fists. "I can't get them to s-stop!"

Fayt watched in disbelief as Albel the Wicked broke down into a soggy heap over his pyjamas.

* * *

Welch had a bad feeling when she woke up that morning.

She looked out of the window, observing the perfect blue sky and multitudes of sunshine raining down. It was a beautiful day, and she smiled, stretching her arms over her head and yawning widely. _You're_ _probably just imagining it_, she told herself sternly._ The weather hasn't been this perfect for a long time and you are going to have a good day whether you like it or not. Items aren't going to sell themselves, you know, and a sour face won't help either. _

Satisfied with her little pep-talk, Welch hopped out of bed and grabbed her towel, whistling a cheerful tune,

She was brushing out her hair when a strange sound reached her ears. Welch frowned. It was still too early for the street traders to begin setting up their stalls. Peterny may have been a trading town, but even the townsfolk liked to keep a decent hour and the noise levels usually only started rising well after seven.

The inventor wandered over to the window when the odd noise grew louder and stuck her head out to get a better look.

What she saw made the blood drain from her face in an instant.

A pyjama-clad Albel Nox was stampeding up the street, a fistful of tissues clenched in each fist, his face damp and red in the morning sunlight A familiar bluenette was clinging to his leg, yelling desperately for him to stop.

"You promised not to kill anyone until after the baby's born, Bel!"

"I don't care!"

Fayt yelped as he hit a pothole in the road. "Ow– listen, killing Welch won't solve anything. You need to stop and calm down before we can figure out way to help you!"

"I will not be made to wait! Someone has to pay NOW!"

Welch stumbled back from the window in a panic, but not before the irate swordsman saw her.

"Get out here, wench!" he bellowed. "Get out here and fix what you did to me!"

She peeked fearfully over the window sill. "B-But…pregnancy isn't something you can fix!" she babbled, clutching the curtain as if it could somehow save her.

"I don't care," he yelled again, shaking his fist up at her. "How can I face people looking like this? You've ruined me, wench, ruined me!"

"Albel, I think you're over-reacting–"

"Keep quiet, Fayt! Uncontrollable crying might suit _you_, but I have a reputation to uphold. Nothing, not even pregnancy, should be able to reduce Albel the Wicked to tears!"

Welch cringed. What exactly did he expect _her_ to do about it? All the potion did was transform his body and make it capable of carrying and bearing a child, there weren't any other side-effects she was aware of. Then again… it _was_ still in its testing phase. Perhaps there was an error she was unaware of.

"Wench, get down here!"

The guild master ducked out of view, wrapping the curtain around her trembling body for comfort (not that it would protect her from a sharp katana). Really, were a few tears reason enough to go berserk in the streets? Albel was completely out of hand, acting like a typical insensitive male. His feminine bits of anatomy were clearly overpowered by his masculine features, no wonder he was freaking out when his feminine hormones decided to pop out and say hello.

Wait. Her mouth dropped open, and she cursed herself for not realising it sooner.

Albel didn't know it. His body's severe emotional reaction was only due to the steady influxes of female hormones into his system, but there was nothing wrong with him. Once he calmed down, took a couple of deep breathes, he would be fine, she reasoned to herself.

She peered out again.

"What kind of captain am I? To succumb to such womanly behaviour, to exhibit such weakness in the streets… the shame would kill my father if he was still alive!"

"Albel, if you just give me a chance to explain…"

"No! Get down here so I can kill you!"

"Are you crazy? I'm not coming down so you can try and kill me!"

"Oh, believe me, there will be no _trying_ about it," Albel snarled.

Beside him, Fayt dragged himself to his feet and tugged on his lover's pyjamas. "Albel," he said worriedly. "You're not looking so good. I think you should go home to lie down."

"Bah, I'll be fine once I kill the wench!"

But Fayt had a point. Albel's face was paler than normal, and taking on a distinctly green tinge. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his breathing was growing steadily more laboured.

"No, I think we should go home _right now_. You need to rest, killing Welch can wait."

As Fayt said that last part, he gave Welch an apologetic look. She winced, but nodded in understanding as she withdrew.

"Albel?" he continued in a softer tone, wrapping one arm around the older man's shoulders. "Are you feeling okay?"

Albel swallowed hard. He would admit he was feeling a little dizzy, but he was sure it would pass. Right now, he had the wench to take care of. "Never mind that," he snapped, wobbling forward. "I need to… I have to… oh _Apris_…"

Fayt cried out in alarm when Albel promptly bent over and threw up last night's dinner onto the street. But once the bluenette realised what it was, he sighed and gathered up his lover's hair so it wouldn't get splattered.

"Just let it pass, Bel," he said comfortingly, rubbing Albel's back in soothing circles until the man straightened up.

"Damn this morning sickness," he said weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "_Damn it to_ _hell_."

* * *

"Albel, you need to relax."

The said man glared at her with red-rimmed eyes, which, given that their colour was red, gave him an even more demonic appearance. He lay flat on his back, belly still exposed from where Mirage had given him the sonogram, but the vulnerable position made him look no less intimidating.

"Do I look like I can relax, woman?" he hissed, propping himself up on one elbow. "How can I relax when my body is falling apart!"

She sighed exasperatedly, stripping off her gloves. "As far as I can tell, you are in perfect health. As long as you eat properly and take the additional vitamins I gave you, there is no reason why your body shouldn't be able to adapt to the changes."

"Impossible!"

"You are," she corrected. "If you don't believe me, Fayt can tell you."

The bluenette looked up from where he was examining the sonogram, clutching it tightly with both hands. His eyes were bright and he had a slightly shell-shocked look on his face. "Look," he said in an awed voice, "it's our baby. Our _baby_."

Albel rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. Just get on with it, woman."

"Well," she shrugged, settling back in her chair. "There's not much else to tell, Albel. And with the report I received from Welch… as far as I can tell, you're right on track."

He twitched at the sound of Welch's name. "This morning sickness–"

"Will pass," she clarified. "I've been tracking all changes thus far and your pregnancy has been a normal on, even if it's only been four months. You're also well on your way to becoming female, I might add." unfortunately, it wasn't extending to his mentality, she thought privately.

"Yes, about that – how long will I have to be a woman?"

"According to my calculations… about a year after the birth. I studied the potion that Welch created, and that's my estimate as to its effects. It's really quite a clever little potion, how she created something as revolutionary as this on an underdeveloped planet is beyond me… I will have to arrange a meeting with her…"

Albel scowled. The last thing he needed or wanted to hear was how _clever_ the little wench was.

"But you don't have to worry about anything now," Mirage finished. "Just concentrate on eating correctly and getting enough rest. Also, don't forget – Fayt!"

The bluenette spun around with a guilty look on his face. "What?" he squeaked.

"What are you doing on my computer?" she asked suspiciously, rising to take a look at the screen.

"Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_."

"Liar."

Fayt shot Albel an annoyed 'who's side are you on' look. His lover only smirked and shrugged helplessly in reply.

"Are you… are you posting the sonogram on _Facebook_?"

Albel's smirk disappeared.

"He's posting my sonogram _where_?"

"No! No, I'm not!"

The swordsman jumped off the examining chair and stormed over to the computer. "I can't believe you're putting pictures of our baby on the Internet!" he snarled. "Take it off, now!"

"Only our friends will be able to see it, Bel, I have a private account," he protested weakly.

"I don't care! They'll be able to see the baby when he's born. I'll be damned if they see him before then!"

"You're such a spoilsport," Fayt muttered as he reluctantly deleted his latest post.

"I don't care. I'm pregnant, I'm entitled to be a spoilsport. _Your_ job is to deal with it."

Fayt pouted, but kept quiet as Albel stomped back to the chair to finish his examination and Mirage followed with a faintly amused look on her face. Once they were immersed in their conversation again, he sneaked a longing look at the screen.

"Hey, Mirage. If it's okay with you, then I'm just going to check my mail, okay?"

She nodded absentmindedly, her attention held by Albel who asking a rather intriguing question about breastfeeding (she was mostly impressed by how completely unashamed he looked while asking about it – that in itself was a miracle of science).

Fayt grinned. Of course, he had no intention of just checking his mail. He quickly opened two windows – one for his mail, one for Facebook.

After another hesitation, he opened one more for his Livejournal.

* * *

Luther was humming happily to himself as he surfed the Internet, concentrating particularly on his favourite site, Facebook. He so loved keeping up with all his little data experiments, and this site was ingenious for letting him do so – none of the little fools would be caught dead without it, and put every detail of their pathetic lives on it. Really, it was a goldmine for data collection. He quirked a brow as he noticed that Fayt Leingod had updated his profile.

He sighed, hoping it was something interesting. For all his otherworldly experience and fantastic powers, the boy was unbearably boring. Almost every entry was about basketball, science or his insipid friends. Things only got really interesting when he started gushing about his gorgeous boyfriend, Albel.

Luther licked his lips. Now _that_ was something worth looking at.

Eagerly, he clicked on the link and drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk, waiting for it to load. His heart jumped when he saw that Fayt had included an image and he was sure he had seen the word 'Albel' somewhere. Was it possible that the bluenette had finally put something interesting on his website? Something hot? Something… _yaoi_?

The Creator could hardly stand the wait.

When the image finally loaded, he was almost drooling over his keyboard, face pressed up against the screen. Would it be as raunchy as he hoped? Would it put his entire yaoi collection to shame?

Would it be… a _foetus_?

His jaw dropped.

It was a sonogram. A mother-freaking _sonogram_. Mouth still hanging open, Luther's gaze wandered to the caption below it.

_OMG! Albel and I are going to have a baby!!!! _

Luther stared at it for a long, long time.

"Good god," he muttered finally after several moments. "What have I unleashed upon the world?"

Then he paused.

"I wonder who the mother is…"

Curious now, he followed a link to the full post. While he read, the blood steadily drained from his face. Luther froze when he realized how his perfect natural order had been perverted. He stayed frozen when he realised that his wildest yaoi dream had been made reality.

"Oh my god… Albel Nox turned uke!"


	7. Maternity Fashions

**Baby Blues**

**Chapter Seven: Maternity Fashions**

* * *

"I look fat."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not fat. You've never been fat."

"I am," Albel said miserably, glaring at his reflection and squashing the urge to stick his katana through it. "Look at me, I'm bigger than a lum!"

"You're not fat."

"I've always had control over my weight. Now I can't even see my _feet_ anymore."

"You're not fat," Fayt repeated amiably again, turning a page in his book. "You're pregnant. There's a difference."

"I've always been able to see my feet…" Albel continued mournfully, completely ignoring his occupied lover. "And now it feels like I've lost a part of myself. Do you know what that feels like? I'm losing touch with my own body!"

"You're not fat, Bel."

"I've always pitied weak fools with a poor body image — now I _am_ one of those weak fools."

"You're not fat."

"Fayt…"

"You're not fat."

"…I'm still pretty, right? You're still attracted to me, aren't you?"

"You're not fat."

"…"

"…"

"…Fayt, while you were asleep last night I sneaked out of bed and let Cliff and Mackwell screw me silly during a huge orgy at Woltar's mansion."

"You're not fat."

"…I was thinking that later I might go back. Cliff mentioned something very interesting called the _Karma Sutra_ and I know Mackwell will be dying to try it out. That man may just be an inventor, but he has amazing stamina. I'm sure you won't mind, but you're always welcome to join us."

"You're not fat," the bluenette replied mechanically, turning another page idly.

Albel pursed his lips, planting his hands firmly on his ever-expanding hips. "I also thought you might like to know," he said pleasantly, "that I sold Sophia into slavery. She should be well on her way to Greeton to work in the mines by now."

"You're not – _you did what_?"

The older of the two pouted, a little peeved that Fayt had only reacted to hearing the name 'Sophia'.

"Nothing, nothing," he said blandly. "I just happened to mention that Sophia will be taking a bit of a vacation for the next couple of months. A _working_ holiday."

Fayt gave him an exasperated look, closing the book he had been studying. "Please… tell me you didn't _really _sell Sophia into slavery."

"I had no choice."

"I think you can choose whether or not to sell someone into _slavery_, Albel."

"You weren't listening to me properly," he answered sulkily.

"That's no excuse!"

"It is in _my_ book."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"…Just shut up and hug me, fool."

"Fine," Fayt relented, opening his arms. "Come here, then."

Albel sniffed. "And don't think a cuddle is going to make it better either, maggot. I don't forgive so easily."

"Well, it's a start, isn't it?"

"Bah," the swordsman scoffed, but plopped himself down on Fayt's lap anyway. "I suppose it is a start," he added grudgingly.

The bluenette smiled, rubbing one hand gently over his lover's swelling belly. "You're not fat," he murmured. "And you're still beautiful. Don't ever say that I would think you're not."

Albel sighed, leaning into his touch. "Of course I'm still handsome," he said petulantly. "And if you weren't attracted to me anymore, there would be something wrong with your head."

"Yeah," Fayt agreed softly, "there would be, wouldn't there?"

He rested his head on Albel's shoulder, and the Glyphian did likewise, resting his cheek atop Fayt's head. They sat together in comfortable silence, Albel absentmindedly stroking blue hair while Fayt continued to rub his pregnant belly with slow circles.

These were the moments Fayt loved most. The times when Albel would put aside his waspish arrogance and be his lover and nothing else. With the pregnancy in particular, Albel had become almost… _kittenish_, and constantly demanded physical affection — not sex; just a kiss, a hug or a cuddle, which Fayt always had ready in hand.

He looked down at Albel's abdomen, and chuckled.

"What?" Albel demanded irritably without opening his eyes.

"I think," the bluenette said bemusedly, "that you need some new clothes."

"No, I don't," he replied automatically, eyes opening to glare at Fayt. "Your shirts will do just fine."

"My shirts won't fit me once you're through stretching them to hell and gone," Fayt pointed out dryly, tugging at the hem which only stretched midway over Albel's abdomen. "You can't live in this, especially when the baby gets bigger. You need maternity clothes."

Albel bristled. "I'm proud of my bump, Fayt, I don't feel the need to hide it under _maternity_ clothes."

"What if it's cold?"

"Then I'll throw on a cloak."

"You'll need something more substantial than a cloak, Bel. You need to go shopping for maternity clothes."

"Yes, but–"

"Did I just hear someone say _shopping_?"

Albel froze. That nauseating, high-pitched squeal. That sudden waft of sickly flowery perfume. He could have sworn that the air in the room had suddenly become infused with pretty pink _sparkles_. No. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now!

"Sophia!""Fayt!"

Albel found himself rudely deposited with a bump on the chair to watch as his lover jumped up to throw his arms around the now squealing girl. Sophia! How _dare_ she interrupt his cuddle time with Fayt!

Even though he knew she was his best friend, even though he knew that Fayt was gay, jealousy still threatened to spill over. And given his current volatile, hormonal and irrational state, it would not be pretty. In fact, Albel already had a plan in place for Sophia which involved rusty chains, a freshly-sharpened Crimson Scourge and her getting beaten to death with her own colon. He grinned, relishing the thought of a little bloodshed this early in the morning. Now, if Fayt would hold her attention long enough for him to sneak up behind her–

"Oh my god, Albel, look at you!"

A sudden rush of wind and he was enveloped in a cloud of sickly perfume and thrust against a soft chest. Albel wrinkled his nose on instinct and was about to throw her off when he realised…

She smelt _good_. Fresh and clean, with a hint of something sweet and floral. And the soft, squishy feeling of females which usually repulsed him felt kind of… nice. Almost comforting. Sophia was babbling nonsense in his ear about how big he was getting and how she would swear he was glowing, and the disturbing thing was that he _didn't mind_. Not one bit. Usually he was trying to stab his own ear drums by this point.

He swallowed. There was a tingly feeling running from his chest down to the tips of his toes. A thrill that was making him tremble visibly. And to makes things worse, he had the strangest urge overpower him.

_Albel wanted to hug her_.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and _squeeze_. He had the sudden urge to start jabbering about babies, puppies and flowers, even (and it pained him greatly to say this) _shoes_. Shoes, for god's sake! He barely noticed his own shoes as long as they were comfortable enough to run and fight in, now he was suddenly interested in wearing as many pairs as possible!

"I can't believe how good he looks," Sophia was saying to Fayt while she still clung to Albel. "He's almost cute!"

"Well," the bluenette said, smiling a little, "he is almost a woman now."

"Almost a woman, now… huh."

Sophia's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she held Albel at arms length to inspect him, and his new-found warm feelings towards her started dissipating at a rapid pace.

"Why are you looking at me like that, wench?" he asked suspiciously, not liking the predatory gleam in her eyes at all. The last time he had seen that look in a woman's eyes, he had ended up wearing a dress and had _ribbons_ braided in his hair – true, he had only been ten years old and in the company of his older female cousin and her gaggle of insipid friends, but the experience still stung.

Just because he happened to have female appendages now did not mean he was going to gallivant around in a dress!

"Almost a woman and still wearing _this_?"

Sophia had pinched the sleeve of his wrinkled and stretched shirt between her fingers, a look of disgust wrinkling her nose.

"No woman," she declared, "no matter how pregnant, would be seen dead wearing something like this. Albel Nox, you should be ashamed of yourself! For the love of god, woman, take some pride in how you look!"

"What's wrong with it?" Fayt said indignantly, instantly coming to his lover's defence. "I think he looks great no matter what he's wearing!"

"Sweetie, you're _supposed_ to say that." Sophia said patronizingly, patting her best friend's cheek in what was supposed to be a comforting manner. "It's how you've been trained. You're not going to be completely honest with him all the time, are you?"

"Well, uh−"

"I mean, just look at him! Those tracksuit pants look like a _dog_ was chewing on them, and that shirt…" she stopped, looking so revolted that the words couldn't even come out.

"Uh, Sophia−"

Fayt sidled closer to his friend, poking her on the shoulder. She paused in the midst of counting Albel's other fashion crimes, and gave him a huffy look.

"_What_, Fayt?"

"I don't think it's such a good idea to list Albel's faults like that," he suggested quietly. "He's been a little, uh, _volatile_, lately."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "Besides, it doesn't matter. He hasn't made a move to even draw his sword yet. If he was really coming after me, then I wouldn't be standing here."

Fayt opened his mouth to reply when the thought struck him that she was right. Amazed, the bluenette turned to look at the pregnant swordsman. Albel was standing, hands clutching the edges of his shirt, wide eyes fixed on his body.

"Uh, Albel−?"

The older (wo)man looked up at him, eyes sparkling with sudden tears. "She's r-right," he said, voice cracking. "She's right. I look like c-crap. How could I have let this happen? How could I have let myself go this far? Do you still love me, Fayt? No, how could you love someone who… who… _who looks like this_?"

Fayt blinked. "Of course I still love you," he spluttered. "I couldn't care less what you looked like."

"_Liar!_" he howled. "I'm hideous! I'm a slob! I'm… I'm−"

Sophia cooed in sympathy and immediately flung her arms around the now sobbing Albel, patting his back in soothing circles.

"There, there, Albel… it happens to the best of us, darling. Don't worry. Don't cry. It's nothing we can't fix."

He raised a tear-stained face and hiccupped. "R-Really? But h-how?"

"Oh, the old-fashioned Earth way," she replied glibly. "_We shop_."

"S-Shopping?" Albel repeated, looking bewildered. "Just say the word, Albel, and I promise that I will make all your wildest dreams come true.""…You'll somehow impale yourself on my sword?"

"No, no, the other wildest dream!" she snapped, looking annoyed, while Fayt snickered behind her back. "I will unlock…" her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, "_the long-hidden feminine side of Albel Nox!_"

Albel blinked. "I have a… feminine side?"

"Of course you do!"

"No! Albel say no! _Quickly_!"

"But, Fayt…" he wheedled, turning to the vigorously protesting bluenette. "I want to go shopping. I _need _new clothes."

"Like you need blistered feet and sore hands? Like you need to walk around a gigantic shopping complex for_ hours _and _hours_ until you can barely lift a bag, let alone walk? Dealing with snippy shop assistants, queuing for hours at a till just to buy a pair of freaking socks… is that what you want, Albel? Huh? _Is that Hell really what you want_?"

"If I can get new clothes… then yes."

Sophia beamed. "Then shopping it is!" she crowed triumphantly, grabbing both Fayt and Albel by the hand.

Horrified, Fayt could only allow himself to be dragged out of their apartment and onto the ship. Dismayed, he could only watch as the insane grins on both Sophia and Albel's faces grew wider and wider as the planet grew further and further away. He pressed his face against the glass and almost cried when Elicoor disappeared completely from view. Fayt sniffled, the urge to cry growing even more when the topic of conversation behind him turned to _shoes_.

_Doomed… I'm doomed._

* * *

It was hardly the first time that Albel had visited one of the Earth's billion shopping malls, but this one certainly took the cake. He was fairly certain that he could fit the entire population of Elicoor into the food court alone. He was also perfectly aware that there were billions of Earthlings on this planet, yet it seemed as if every one of them had decided to come to _this_ mall to shop. It was crowded, hot and filled with what only could have been a million screaming babies — and here Albel was seriously reconsidering his decision to have a baby, never mind that it was a little late to have second thoughts.

In short, the place was Hell. And Albel _knew_ exactly whose fault it was that he was here.

"This is your fault, maggot."

Fayt looked aghast. "How the hell can you blame this on me? This is _your_ fault."

"Well, she was _your_ friend first."

"You were all, like, 'but Fayt, I _need_ new clothes' and 'Fayt, I _need_ to feel pretty on the outside'. Hah, _I_ told you that — twice! You told me you _hated _shopping, but nooo, you had to let hormones get the better of you, didn't you!"

Albel scowled, thrusting a bulging shopping bag at Fayt. "Just shut up and carry this for me. I'm tired."

The bluenette shook his head, glaring back at him. He held up both of his arms, which were laden with heavy bags. "Do I _look_ like I have any space left?"

The swordsman scrutinised him carefully. "Actually… you do." Before Fayt could protest or run away, Albel neatly looped the shopping bag around the one arm that still had a bit of space open and dashed into the nearest store.

Fayt stared after him, open-mouthed. _Oh well_, he thought jadedly, _he'll regret it soon enough_. _That's the maternity store Sophia went into_.

_He just delivered himself to the hands of the Devil._

* * *

"This will look _fabulous_ on you, Bel."

Albel struggled to get the floral shirt over his head and swollen belly, grimacing as it snagged on one of his braids.

"What are you grinning at me for, maggot?" he snapped waspishly when he caught of Sophia's smirking face.

"Oh, nothing, nothing…" she said mysteriously, averting her eyes from his… chest. _Score! He's pregnant _and_ a woman but my boobs are still bigger!_ Inwardly, she pulled her own victory sign and laughed nervously when Albel gave her a suspicious look. "Gee," she added hurriedly, "you know what would make that blouse look even better? _Accessories_. We need to accessorise!"

He looked sour. "I don't want jewellery," he said petulantly. "I'm tired, my feet hurt and I want to go home."

"Nonsense! What woman doesn't want jewellery? Now, just wait here, and I'll be back with a few necklaces and bracelets… ooh, can't forget hair clips, or maybe a nice, funky headband…"

Albel watched her skip away, and it occurred to him that he really should wait for her to come back. After all, she was conducting this entire shopping trip for his benefit — it was only fair that he at least be gracious. His whole 'noble upbringing', and all. He stared at his reflection in the fitting room booth. His reflection stared back. Somehow, given the fact that he was currently a pregnant man/woman thing, it didn't surprise Albel when his reflection started talking.

_What the hell are you waiting for? Get the fuck outta there before she comes back!_

"But she's Fayt's best friend. I have to wait," he tried to explain to what was apparently his 'inner self'. "I don't want to upset her."

…_Since when have you actually given a fuck about Sophia? If she's upset and you're not, then it's a good thing, moron! _

Albel paused. "You may have a point there," he mused.

_Exactly! Now haul your ass outta there before she comes back with ribbons. You remember how bad the ribbons were, don't you? I don't ever want to go back to ribbons! You hear me? NO MORE RIBBONS IN MY HAIR! _

"You don't have to shout," Albel grumbled, hauling himself off the chair with a groan and waddling out of the fitting rooms.

_Go, go, go, go!_

"Shut up!"

The store assistant standing at the counter blinked, looking shocked. "Excuse me?" she gasped.

Albel sighed. "Not you, lady. I was talking to my reflection."

"Oh… I see." She backed away as Albel came nearer. "Erm, will you be taking anything…uh, ma'am?"

The Glyphian pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Just my pride," he mumbled. "…and this maternity bra."

He needed a new bra, anyway.

* * *

"Just so you know, I'm going to kill your best friend."

Fayt opened his eyes blearily. "Go ahead," he told his lover, waving his hand listlessly. "Be my guest. I give you full permission to use whatever methods necessary. Seriously, I don't care anymore."

Albel flopped down beside him with a groan, massaging his back. "The only problem," he said glumly, "is that I don't think I have the energy to kill her.

The bluenette sighed, letting his head rest on Albel's shoulder. "'m tired too," he mumbled. "I don't want to shop anymore, Bel. My body is telling me to stop and go home. Let's just go. Sophia can find her own way back to Elicoor."

"Albel! There you are, you naughty girl!"

The 'naughty girl' groaned.

"Oh, Al-bel!" she trilled again in a sing-song voice. "I just found the _cutest _little maternity dress for you!"

"I already told you, wench, that I will not wear a dress. What do you think I am, a doll for you to play dress up?"

Sophia pouted, planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Oh, come on. You told me that you wanted to be more feminine, didn't you? You don't get more feminine than a dress. And I swear that I found the perfect maternity dress for you, it will look fabulous!"

"Woman, I will be the laughing stock of the entire army if I attend my duties wearing a dress! And you cannot take my comment about being more feminine seriously — since I got this stupid thing stuck inside my belly, I've been saying things I don't mean. You just caught me when I was vulnerable!"

"You're already _pregnant_," Sophia pointed out reasonably. "I don't see how wearing a maternity dress can affect your army reputation any more. Besides, you usually wear a skirt, don't you?"

"That's different. I wear a _sarong_. It is a garment that allows me to move freely, thus giving it strategic purpose in battle. It has no other value whatsoever."

"…I always thought you just wore it to show off your legs."

"Keep out of this, Fayt!"

"But you do have to admit that you have really nice legs…"

"…Yes. Yes, I do, don't I?"

They beamed lovingly at each other and Sophia rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to gag.

"Oh, for the love of…" she muttered. "Well then, what do you want? We can't go back to Elicoor empty-handed."

Albel immediately pointed to the shop window closest to where they were seated. "Those."

Sophia's eyes widened in horror when she saw what Albel was pointing to. "Dungarees?" she yelped. "You want _dungarees_?"

"Maternity dungarees," he corrected her primly. "And yes, I want them. They look comfortable, and I am certain that I will be able to save face and train with my soldiers."

"But they're so… well, ugly. And plain. I can find a much prettier maternity dress for you−"

"I want them. If I don't get them, we'll have a problem. And if we have a problem, I'll kill you. _Slowly_."

Sophia gulped, eyeing the dagger which had magically appeared out of thin air in his hand. How the _heck_ had he managed to sneak that through five security checks?

"T-Then dungarees it is."

Albel smirked, sliding the dagger back under his shirt into the sheath hidden in his bra, and patted his chest appreciatively.

It was good to know that these bra contraptions were good for something other than preventing the embarrassing jiggles he had been prone to lately.

* * *

**A/N**: I have this lovely image in my head of Albel in dungarees now. Honestly, I think he would look absolutely adorable. Lol, perhaps I'll get a matching one for Fayt in the next chapter.


	8. Of Baby Showers and Wedding Bells

_Baby Blues_

_Chapter Eight: Of Baby Showers and Wedding Bells_

_A/N_: I am determined to finish this story. And I know my updating is sporadic to the point of no forgiveness, but I do intend to finish this story within one chapter after this one, along with a short epilogue. A major thank you needs to go to those who are still reading this, for your patience and tolerance, and continuing support ^^

-

-

Sophia was a good girl.

More than that, she was the epitome of the universal stereotype. She enjoyed cooking, cleaning, friendship, love; she was stylish, angelic, cute, naive and stupidly brave… all in all, the _perfect_ good girl.

With all the above in mind, it made perfect sense that she should snap from the pressure.

Good girls, after all, finish last as she had soon learned. The best friend whom she should have claimed came out of the closet after the battle had finished; hereby annihilating any dream she had of a suburban house with a white picket fence, a dozen children and a Labrador puppy. To make matters worse, the token bad boy (who was the logical choice after the childhood friend, do keep up), Albel, also declared his intention to claim said best friend, therefore destroying any chance she had of shacking up in a manor and becoming a Glyphian duchess.

It was a wonder she was still speaking to either of them after they decided to seal their relationship with a baby. By all rights, she should have shunned both of them, but she couldn't. Sure, she _acted_ like everything was perfect, but she still held a little bit of a grudge. But abandoning best friends was not something good girls did, you see. Plus it was rather fun to try dressing Albel the Wicked in pretty maternity dresses – suicidal, yes, but still fun.

In any event, this was how she came to be at the centre of this mess.

_A baby shower_.

A baby shower for the most notorious, ruthless and bloodthirsty warrior in all of Elicoor, perhaps even the _universe_ now that 'she' was driven solely by female hormones.

Sophia sighed and tucked a pen behind her ear. It was a small wonder she didn't stab it straight through her head. "Are you sure that Albel will be okay with the colour?" she said dubiously, giving Fayt a hard stare. "Once the party starts, I can't change the decorations before Albel sees it. And if he doesn't like them–"

"Pink is the perfect colour," Fayt interrupted. "We discussed it together and he agreed that since our baby is a girl, pink is an excellent colour."

"Really. Even though you _don't_ know the sex of the baby."

The bluenette scoffed. "Of course I know. Albel is going to give birth to our baby girl. Therefore, pink."

"…Albel told me that if he walked into the room and saw the colour pink anywhere, he would throw me onto the ground, disembowel me, tie my entrails to a lum and drag me all over Airyglyph before chopping off my legs and throwing my body over a cliff."

"H-He did? Really?"

"Yes. _Really_. You see, it seems that Albel is under the impression that the baby is going to be a boy. Not a girl, as _you_ so insist."

"I'm sure he was only joking." Fayt knew perfectly well that Albel rarely joked, but for the sake of the bet between himself and his lover, he was willing to tell a few white lies.

"The word 'joke' isn't even in Albel's vocabulary, Fayt. He was serious. Deadly serious. Serious enough to terrify half my staff into quitting and fleeing for their lives, convinced he was going to beat them to death with their own colons."

"…Albel wouldn't go_ that_ far." Another blatant lie on Fayt's part.

Sophia sighed, taking a deep breath before looking him straight in the eye. "Fayt," she said as calmly as she could. "Get out of my sight. Now."

"But—"

"Out!" the screech burst near his ear and Fayt fled, clutching his backside protectively in case she decided a bolt of lightning would help the message hit home. He pushed past the crowd of workmen carrying marble statues and dozens of flowerpots, yelping apologies as he left a wake of smashed pottery and angry curses. He weaved his way through the hall packed with servants (over whom Sophia had waved her magic wand and turned into interior decorators) and a battalion of cooks. Fayt narrowly missed being decapitated by a cook armed with a silver platter and he plunged out of the ballroom and dashed around the corner. Eventually, after navigating further mazes of servants, soldiers and nobles alike, he found himself in a quiet niche and he sank down onto the stone floor, congratulating himself on his luck. It was a marvel to find _anyplace_ quiet these days.

Airyglyph had been swept up in a frenzy of baby fever for the past two months. The castle had become a hive of activity as the entire town prepared for one of the greatest parties ever thrown, and it seemed as if everything had been moving ahead at double the speed. Since the public's 'discovery' of Albel's pregnancy (incited by the captain's rather prominent bump made even more conspicuous by his pair of dungarees as he proceeded to lead his army in their daily drills), Albel and Fayt had been swept up in a maelstrom of scandal and intrigue. Strangely enough, Albel's pregnancy had effects that neither man could have predicted.

It was suddenly _fashionable_ to be pregnant. Spurred by the actions of one disgruntled swordsman, women found pride in their baby bumps and showed them off with tighter clothing instead of obscuring their pregnancies with the demure, heavy maternity wear favoured by Glyphian society. The younger women even went so far as to duplicate the dungarees worn by the captain.

In the face of this, the men didn't have much of a choice but to be swept along with them. Husbands and fathers alike were threatened and coaxed into accepting the unusual couple by their wives and daughters, to whom the idea was hopelessly romantic and exciting. No man would have dared to openly disapprove of Albel's condition and they could hardly argue that it got in the way of his duties. Albel had continued his military duties until Fayt had forced him to relinquish them to his vice-captain. Yet even now, a month before the birth, Albel still maintained a tight grip on his battalion, insisting that his subordinate report to him daily.

Not even the king was safe. His newly crowned queen had been the most enthusiastic of the lot. She had insisted, amidst the outcry from the nobles of Albel's refusal to take a bride and his pregnancy by another man, that it was an occasion for a party – the most elaborate, expensive and overblown baby shower known to mortal man. Airyglyph, like any man, had conceded defeat to the whims of his newlywed wife from one flutter of her eyelashes and a coy smile. Besides, his people had not had a reason to celebrate since the end of the war with Aquaria and the imminent arrival of the heir to the Nox estate was as good a reason as any.

Albel hated the fuss and he blamed Fayt for it. Rather unreasonable, the bluenette thought irritably, since Albel was the one parading his pregnancy for all to see –how could he _not_ have expected anyone to make a fuss when a pregnant lord strutted back and forth across the battlements every day? – and Fayt was hardly at fault that Airyglyph's queen had taken such an interest in him. Intrigued by the stories Fayt told her of Earth customs, she had instantly lit upon the idea of a party to celebrate impending motherhood. But Her Majesty wasn't going to be the one to plan it. _That_ was beneath her royal person.

She had left that great privilege to Sophia. Not because Sophia wanted to throw a baby shower, but because she was the only female with some passing relation to Albel willing to do it (there was Nel, but no one was stupid enough to ask her to throw a party for the swordsman. They had just gotten past the point where they tried to kill each other on a daily basis and no one in their right mind would put those two in a stressful situation again and still hope to come out of it alive).

Fayt settled into a light doze, leaning his head back against the cool stone. The past three months had been akin to a roller coaster, and he felt like he had been moving on constant warp speed. Amidst all the attention and scrutiny from the Glyphian public and arrivals of all their outworlder guests, Fayt even had to remind himself to just breath_e_. He found himself wishing frequently that he and Albel could just take off somewhere –_anywhere_– and have their baby in peace. Unfortunately, that was exactly what it was – wishful thinking. Their baby and their relationship had become the focus of every gossip session in the past two months. Were they having twins, was the baby going to be a girl or a boy, what was the child's name going to be…

If the Glyphians had had tabloids, Fayt was damn sure they would have been on the cover ten times over already.

"You!" a voice burst out, jerking the bluenette from his stupor. "Have you found Lord Leingod?"

_Uh-oh_. Fayt scooted further along the dim corridor. He certainly didn't want to be found _this_ soon. Most likely it was another servant carrying a ridiculous request from a noblewoman who wanted him to tell his story or convince Albel to sit and chat with the other expectant mothers of the court. He let his head sink onto his knees and listened.

"He ran out of the ballroom some time ago," another voice reported breathlessly. "We lost sight of him in the crowd."

A foot stamped impatiently. "Not only is his mother requesting his presence, Lord Albel was also looking for him. _Lord Albel_! Now for the love of the gods, man, find him!"

"But sir, he's nowhere to be found–"

"–and we've searched every corner of this floor!" a third voice chimed in.

"Fools! He has to be somewhere and I want him found immediately. Or would you like to inform Lord Albel that his consort cannot be found?"

There was silence before the second voice reluctantly said, and sounding very doubtful, "Perhaps Lady Mirage will be able to offer information to his whereabouts. She knows some very useful magic with those strange devices she calls 'science'…"

Fayt sighed, pressing his palms against the stone and pushing himself to his feet. _Back to work_, he thought to himself, mouth tweaking into an expression of acquiescence. He shuffled around the corner, holding his hands above his head in a gesture of mock-surrender.

Three faces whipped around at his entry, their anxious faces quickly morphing into expressions of enormous relief.

The bluenette smiled. "Since there seems to be such a fuss," he said mildly, "I'll come quietly."

-

-

Nursing a burgeoning headache, Fayt slunk to his and Albel's quarters where he anticipated a blissful tranquillity. He had endured an hour of his mother jabbering on about interior decorating for the baby's room at the Nox manor. Then she had gotten started on the endless list of candidates for the baby's godparents and how adamant she was that her grandchild would be christened at the biggest cathedral in Aquios – the royal palace itself. At this point, Fayt was willing to grab the closest two people in his vicinity and name them as the baby's godparents. Screw ceremony.

The endless party activity was getting to him and he wanted nothing more to curl up on the bed with Albel and take a long nap before he was dragged off once again. He was about to push the door open when a high-pitched shriek shattered the silence within the room.

"HOW DARE YOU DENY ME? I AM PREGNANT, MAN, _PREGNANT_!"

A person, undoubtedly terrified out of their wits, gibbered "my apologies, Lord Albel!"

Fayt groaned –_no rest for the wicked_, was his thought– and entered the room to see his pregnant lover standing over a soldier of the Black Brigade. His pregnant lover, mind you, clad in worn dungarees and fully armed with a lethal, bloodthirsty sword. The soldier was clutching a familiar well-wrapped box in trembling hands.

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE FOR YOUR WORTHLESS APOLOGIES? GIVE IT TO ME!"

"B-But, Lady Mirage said n-not to under pain of d-d-death–!"

Albel glared, cradling his distended belly in one hand and pointing his sword at the hapless soldier. "DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, YOU FEEBLE MAGGOT? DO YOU WANT TO DIE UNDER _MY_ SWORD?"

The man bowed his head in defeat. "N-No my lord," he sobbed.

"Good," Albel snapped. "Now give me the chocolate!"

The soldier handed it over with shaking hands. His captain snatched it greedily, ripping the wrapping off in a frenzy to reach the sweet cocoa goodness inside.

"Aaaahhhh…" he sighed, closing his eyes in rapture.

"A-Am I dismissed, m-my lord?"

"Hmm? Of course," Albel waved his hand negligently, sinking into an armchair and favouring the soldier with a sudden dreamy smile. "And while you're at it," he added generously, "take the day off. Relax. Put your feet up. You've earned it, soldier."

"T-Thank you, my lord!" the soldier saluted gratefully and fled, pausing only to flash a bemused Fayt a quick salute.

Fayt closed the door behind him then turned to his errant lover. "Was that really necessary?"

The swordsman shrugged. "It keeps them on their toes," he said offhandedly, cramming a hazelnut cream into his mouth.

The other man shook his head and his gaze dropped to the box cradled in his lover's lap. "You know you're not supposed to be eating that," the bluenette said admonishingly. "Mirage told you to avoid an excess of sugar."

He leaned over Albel, running a hand through his hair and cupping the nape of Albel's neck in his palm. The swordsman leaned into the touch, but held the box closer to his chest.

"I only intended to have a little taste," he grumbled.

"Mmm-hmm… and now you've had it."

Fayt's breath brushed over Albel's cheek before his tongue flicked out in a teasing sweep across the swordsman's lips, erasing a smear of chocolate.

"You can't lie," he continued. "I can taste the evidence."

"You're such a tease," Albel growled, gripping Fayt's shoulder and jerking him down. Their lips brushed together softly at first then met with greater urgency as the two grew more impatient. Fayt manoeuvred his body so that he was seated on the armrest of the chair and he slid his left arm around Albel, embracing him closely. Out of habit, one hand found Albel's rounded stomach and automatically began rubbing in smooth, practiced circles and Albel let out a purr of satisfaction at the motion.

When they finally parted, Albel had a little smirk of satisfaction curving his lips but it promptly disappeared when he realised that the box of chocolate was gone.

"Fayt!"

"Now where could they have gone?" Fayt wondered out loud, blinking innocently.

"Give. Them. Back."

"No. You've had enough," the younger man said sternly, hiding the box behind his back.

"_I'll_ be the judge of that."

Albel lunged for the box, cursing the baby cradled in his belly for robbing him of all his agility. His lover performed a neat pirouette, playfully tweaking one of Albel's blonde-tipped braids and chuckling as the swordsman sailed past him. Enraged, Albel only just managed to maintain his awkward balance, and he spun on his feet to see the bluenette standing next to the window.

"Don't you dare!"

His shriek of dismay came a second too late. The box sailed out of the window and Albel let out a small cry, rushing to the window only to see its ill-fated demise on the courtyard cobblestones.

"Oops," Fayt said blandly. "My hand slipped."

"Y-You idiot! You wasted a perfectly good box of chocolate!"

"A box of chocolate, need I remind you, that you don't need nor have permission to eat. And," he added sternly, "don't sulk, Albel. You know that you have to think of the baby."

Of course, that mouth had already sunk into a pout that was difficult to get rid of.

"I wanted that chocolate. And I had no intention of over-indulging myself, for your information. I am the very _example_ of control, Fayt. The discipline of five generations of soldiers is in my blood. The Nox family is bred for warfare, we have always been the elite of the elite…control and restraint are learned from the cradle…" Albel trailed off suddenly, looking startled for a moment before his features settled into a complacent look. "That was a strong kick," he noted admiringly.

Fayt stepped closer and placed his palm over his lover's rounded curve. His eyes softened when he felt the gentle thump against his hand. "I don't think she likes to hear us arguing," he commented wryly.

"Bah, that wasn't even an argument. What will he say when we dofight?"

"And when we break out the swords," Fayt agreed ruefully, remembering the path their squabbles usually took. Smashed furniture, torn clothing, bruises… sex… the bluenette blushed as a particularly vivid memory popped into his head.

A wicked glint flickered into life in those red eyes and Albel tilted his head, a little smile quirking his mouth. "Blushing, maggot?" he said archly. "What could you possibly be thinking about when we speak of fighting… and you _blush_?"

Fayt tried not to laugh when Albel enveloped him in an embrace and buried his face in his neck with a playful growl. " Stop it. The baby can hear us," he whispered, stifling a giggle when the wispy tip of a braid tickled his chin.

"And what of it? Let him enjoy the show."

"Her," Fayt corrected absentmindedly, then he gasped as Albel nipped particularly hard at his collarbone.

"I thought we had settled that matter. Our child… is going to be a boy…" the swordsman groaned softly in approval when lips nibbled lovingly at his ear.

"Neither of us wins until _she's_ born."

"I should never have agreed on this foolish bet. You become even more insufferable when you're determined. Stubborn fool."

"Who are you–" Fayt squeaked when a hand dipped underneath his shirt "–to talk about being stubborn? We both have a fifty percent chance of being right. _You're_ the stubborn one."

"I know victory when I see it. You'd think that you would know that by now."

Fayt smiled. "I do," he said affectionately, kissing Albel on the cheek. He caught the swordsman's roving and insistent hands in his own, and held them still. "Think you wanna catch a nap before we have to get ready for the party?"

"Bah, who needs a party? I would much rather have you."

"Trust me, I'd rather stay here and sleep the night away with you than go out there and face the horde. It's just that everyone has put so much effort into it… for us. And the baby. We can't disappoint them."

Albel sighed. "I _hate _it when you use guilt against me," he said petulantly.

"It works, doesn't it?"

"Too well," came the grumble of agreement, as Fayt took him by the hand and led him to the bed, where he sat down with a thump.

"Nap," he said firmly, patting the space beside him. "No arguments."

"Mother-hen," the swordsman muttered under his breath, squirming into his place beside his lover. Together they cuddled back onto the pile of pillows, Fayt wrapping a protective arm around Albel's rounded stomach.

"I hope," Albel murmured drowsily after a few moments, "that you reminded Sophia the decorations for tonight were to be blue. I gave her quite a… vivid description of what happen if she failed to comply with my wishes."

Fayt winced. "Sure. Sure, I did. Sophia knows what do."

_I just hope she can run fast enough_.

-

-

It was a glorious evening for a party. Clear skies, still touched with rose as the sun sank behind the mountains, showed the first winking stars to the first of the guests arriving at Airyglyph castle. They also had the fortune of being greeted by hundreds of flickering lanterns flanking the path into the castle courtyard.

Sophia, electronic notepad permanently in hand, was quite proud of herself for managing a zigzag through the crowd in high heels and a tight-fitting cocktail dress and snaring the unerring waiter who had been about to serve a bad plate of steamed buns made with suspicious looking seafood before he could give a poor guest food poisoning. Mission accomplished, she flagged down another waiter and shooed him back to the kitchens with the confiscated platter. She turned her attention to the crowd once more, surveying the guests with a practiced eagle eye while she patted her hair down, ensuring that not a strand was out of place.

Yes, this baby shower would be the most memorable event of the year if she continued to have her way. Sophia loved compliments as much as the next girl, and it was especially nice to be complimented by royalty.

"Gifts that way!" she snapped, pointing her staff at the room adjoining the ballroom. The servant staggered over to deposit another load of exquisitely wrapped gifts next to the quivering stacks already threatening to topple at any moment. An obscenely huge teddy bear –Adray's gift to the couple– sat in the corner, looking quite menacing as it glowered down at the guests. Sophia looked at it with a sigh. She would have liked to send the plush toy to another dimension. That… _thing_was bound to terrify any child. Adray wouldn't be deterred though. His repressed yearning for grandchildren (denied to him by Nel's continuing rejections of proposals) had unleashed a monster. _That_ monster in the corner, specifically.

"Lady Sophia!"

Her personal assistant, a lovely girl from Kirlsa by the name of Lillia, popped up next to her, snapping her heeled shoes smartly together and giving a mock salute. "Ready to report, my lady," she said cheerfully.

"Proceed," Sophia said curtly.

"All guests are present and accounted for, save their Royal Majesties of Airyglyph and Aquaria. And the Lords Nox and Leingod, of course," she added.

"Excellent, excellent… and everything is in place for their entrance?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then we can begin the ceremony. Have everyone stand by, in position." Sophia snapped her fingers, murmuring a spell under her breath. Magic flexed the air in front of her and the lights dimmed to a dusky gloom. Hearing the surprised mutters of confusion and alarm from the guests, Sophia smiled. She released another spell with a flamboyant twirl of her staff, and thousands of tiny luminescent lights twinkled to life, on the walls, ceiling, even the floor. Exclamations of alarm quickly turned to delight and wonder, and lords and ladies alike pointed to the beautiful lights illuminating the ballroom, casting a soft, silvery glow upon every face it fell.

"Lady Sophia," and she turned at the whisper from beside her, "their Majesties and honoured guests are waiting to enter."

"Have them begin the announcements," Sophia murmured back. As Lillia scurried off to obey, Sophia turned back to the enthralled crowd. She pointed her staff towards the heavy, ornately carved doors enclosing the ballroom, bringing the focus of the light to rest there.

Their Royal Majesties of both nations entered first, Queen Aquaria escorted by her consort, and King Airglyph entered with his wife on his arm. Woltar came behind them, an expression of mild bewilderment on his wrinkled face that had been more-or-less permanent ever since Albel had broken the news of his pregnancy to him. A rustling whisper filled the ballroom as the crowd bent on one knee to receive their monarchs. They rose moments later, an expectant hush falling over them, broken by excited murmurs that were quickly silenced.

Their honoured guests were standing in the doorway. Albel, haughty and ignorant of the many eyes focused on them, struck a regal pose. Fayt looked frozen, blinking against the light and mouth hanging open slightly with apprehension, until Albel tugged him forward.

"Oh, get on with it!" he snapped, unheeding of how loud his voice became in the silence. "Now is not the time for stage-fright!"

Woltar rolled his eyes despairingly. The moment shattered, Albel strode down the centre of the crowd, red maternity dress flaring around his ankles. At the dais where the monarchs had gathered, Airglyph stood with a knowing smile on his face. After a traditional welcome speech from him, his queen clapped her hands and declared that it was "time to get the party started" – yet another testament that she had been spending far too much time with her otherworld guests.

After they had given their respects to the monarchs, and before Albel could make a beeline for the food, Fayt tugged him in Sophia's direction.

"Giving our thanks comes first, Albel."

"Bah, it can come after!" He strained in the direction of the food, nostrils flaring as the tantalising scents teased his nose.

"No," the bluenette said firmly, clamping Albel's arm in his. "You should know court protocol at a party. You were _raised_ at court. So we're going to give our thanks. _Now_."

Albel sighed noisily. "Fine." He allowed himself to be dragged towards where Sophia was waiting. Fayt reached her first, dispensing with the hugs and chatter that Albel hated. Prompted by his lover, Albel reluctantly allowed himself to be hugged as well.

"Sophia, this is fantastic. You've really outdone yourself," Fayt gushed, then he elbowed Albel in the side, hissing "_don't you have something to say as well?_"

"I suppose it will do," Albel said grudgingly, tossing the scrap of praise (and it was praise, by his standards) at her. "At least you used the appropriate colour scheme, maggot."

Sophia rolled her eyes, knowing it was the most she could hope for. "You're welcome."

"_Now_ can we eat?"

"Go ahead," Fayt and Sophia simultaneously, both letting out identical sighs as the swordsman set off towards the tables, stride full of purpose.

"Blue?" Fayt said petulantly, turning his attention to Sophia once he was sure Albel was safely out of ear shot. "I wanted pink."

"Look at it this way, Fayt," she retorted pleasantly. "_You_ wouldn't eviscerate for not following your whims. _He_ would."

"But, Sophia–"

"No buts. Go have fun at your party, Fayt."

"But–"

"Go have fun_ now!_"

Fayt sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

-

-

Small bells tinkled, and Peppita's little gloved hand hovered over the swell of Albel's stomach.

"Can I…?"

Albel scowled, folding his arms and resting them across his chest. "You may," he replied rather ungraciously, shooting a glare at Fayt, who only mouthed "_be nice_".

He sighed as the group around him started clamouring for their chance to feel the Nox heir move. Once his pregnancy had become apparent, _everyone_ wanted a feel and Albel had had no choice but to become accustomed to being touched by people other than his intimates. In his condition, it was not advised that he chase after offenders. And he supposed, on some obscure level, that the attention he got from people oohing and aahing over his condition was rather flattering.

Peppita gingerly rubbed in circles, feeling out the shape of the baby under her palm. "Oooh," she cooed, eyes wide. "I can feel the baby moving!"

"Albel, can I feel–?"

"Touch me, maggot, and I'll have your head on a pike decorating the citadel before the hour is out."

Cliff drew his hand back, looking wounded.

"Can I touch _those_?" Roger interrupted, staring with wide-eyed fascination at Albel's breasts.

"Not unless you wish to lose all your fingers," Albel answered sweetly, his sword hand twitching suspiciously near the curve of his hip, where he most likely had a dagger hidden in the folds of his dress.

"No fair– hey!"

Fayt plucked the Menodix up by the collar of his shirt, growling, "Isn't it past your bedtime, Roger?"

"What?" the boy whined, struggling in Fayt's grip. Albel shot him a smug look, wiggling his fingers in goodbye, and a smile curved his mouth when Fayt booted the Menodix out of the ballroom and slammed the heavy doors shut.

The captain of the Black Brigade's smile grew wider when Fayt stood at his shoulder, a mulish look on his face. The bluenette was shooting a suspicious look at Cliff, and then decisively, he placed a hand on Albel's shoulder.

"My, my." Albel murmured. "Aren't we possessive tonight."

Fayt heard, and flushed.

"Shut up," he muttered back. "He was being rude."

Albel just smirked. He sat for a further half hour, tolerating Maria, Sophia, Clair and Nel cooing over him, while Cliff hovered morosely on the edges. He was content to just rest his feet while the party continued, until he felt Fayt's hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Can you – can you come with me for a second? I need to ask you something. A-Alone."

Albel shot him a curious look and the younger man looked away and muttered, "Just come here." He tugged Albel to his feet, ignoring the cries of protest from the crowd.

Mirage only smiled, catching Fayt's eye as he led Albel to the balcony, and she winked.

"What was that about?" Cliff asked curiously, sidling closer to her.

She let out a wistful sigh and linked her arm through his. "Nothing, dear. It's just – very romantic."

"What are they – oh." He blushed, staring after Fayt who was pulling Albel through the crowd.

Mirage rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "You have no sense of subtlety."

"But you just said–"

"I wasn't talking about sex, Cliff." She stared at him significantly, and he blinked.

"Huh?"

"Never mind, dear."

"But, Mirage–"

And then she proved to him once again (as she had throughout all the years of their relationship) that kissing was a very effective method to shut him up.

Outside, Fayt was having the opposite problem. He stood across from Albel under the soft light of the moon, horribly aware of the piercing and smouldering red glow of his lover's eyes. Albel was waiting for him to speak and he _couldn't _speak. His tongue was shrivelled, dry, and incapable of moving in speech. Clammy fingers clutched at the box in his pocket and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out save a choked squeak.

Albel's gaze sharpened, and he said irritably, "Fayt, what are you–"

"WillYouDoMeTheHonourOfBecomingMyHusband?" the bluenette blurted out.

Albel blinked at the incoherent jumble of words that tumbled out of Fayt's mouth.

"What?"

"M-M-M-M–"

"Spit it out, maggot. I haven't got all day to listen to your ramblings, I have to go to the bloody toilet again because the brat keeps kicking my bladder–"

"Marry me!"

"What?"

"B-Be my… my husband. I want you to be my husband!"

A look of astonishment lit the swordsman's face. "You wish to marry me?"

"Of course I want to marry you. Why wouldn't I?"

"We are two men, remember."

"Albel, we're two men living together and _having a baby_. That's about as married as you can get."

"I suppose that marriage would mean that our child would be legitimate."

"Well, yeah…" Fayt squirmed, looking a little hurt. "That's one reason."

Albel smirked. "Then I suppose, maggot, that you can now consider yourself engaged."

"It's… it's not just for the baby, Bel."

The older man sighed, snatching up Fayt's wrist and jerking the boy closer to him. "Do you believe me to be that shallow? Foolish as you are, I would marry you for _you_. I would not consider another worthy of exchanging a promise of marriage with me."

Fayt blushed, heated face pressed into the curve of Albel's shoulder.

"Wait, I had…" he fumbled in his pants pocket, bringing out the box. He opened the lid, revealing the two rings nestled amidst black velvet. "I thought we should both have rings to show that we're–" he paused and continued somewhat giddily, "–engaged."

Albel watched silently as Fayt clutched his hand between sweaty palms, sliding the silver ring over the ring finger of his left hand.

"I picked a stone to match your eyes," the bluenette continued shyly. "And mine–"

"Matches your hair," the swordsman observed bemusedly, plucking the other ring from the box and holding it up to the dim light. The precious stone reflected bands of blue within its depths, sparkling with the same brilliance of the stone on Albel's ring.

He slid it onto Fayt's ring finger, and purposefully held the younger man's gaze.

"I'm not going to be romantic or pathetic about this, Fayt," he warned. "I never have been, and I'm not about to start now."

"I know," Fayt agreed, smirking a little as he inched up. "That's why I intend being romantic enough for the both of us."

And with that he threw his arms around Albel's neck and kissed him with an enthusiasm that the captain couldn't help but reciprocate.

"Love you, Bel."

Albel muffled his face in Fayt's neck before he mumbled, "I know, idiot. And I _told _you I was not going to get sentimental about this."

Fayt smiled. With Albel, that was as close to "I love you, too" that he would get, but it was more than enough.

-

_To Be Continued_

-


End file.
